iktsuarpok
by Miss-KateK
Summary: "It's past his bedtime. He knows that. But Momma isn't home yet and he misses her. He wants Momma."


**iktsuarpok**

inuit: the feeling of anticipation while waiting for someone to arrive at one's house.

It's past his bedtime. He knows that.

He can see the numbers on the clock. They're red. He likes red. He didn't like the green clock. No. But Daddy bought him a new one, a Spiderman one. He loves it.

The numbers – he can't read them. He doesn't know how to read yet. Daddy has promised to teach him so he can read good like him. But he can count. He's a good counter. Right now, he counts four numbers, not three. That means it's _really_ past his bedtime.

But he can't sleep. It's not too hot and there aren't any loud noises but he still can't sleep. He's tired – oh, yes, he's tired – but he still can't sleep.

James lets out a light puff of air and balls a fist, lifts it to his face and rubs his drooping eyelids. He doesn't want to go to sleep. Maybe –

Hm. Maybe he can stay up just a little longer. Wait up. Yeah.

He scrunches his face and wiggles free from the sheets, slides out of bed. It's further than he thought to the ground and it hurts his feet a little but he pulls a face, tongue poking out the left corner of his mouth, and moves on. He's brave, like Momma. He creeps across the room to the door left ajar, a feint light streaming in through the crack, lighting a path. No nightlight. Doesn't need one. He's brave.

With one eye he peers through the opening, checks his Daddy isn't around. He's not supposed to be out of bed. He knows that. If Daddy catches him, he'll be in trouble.

But Momma isn't home yet and he misses her. Oh. He misses his Momma. And he wants to wait up for her.

He only just got the big boy bed and Spiderman blanket to go with it (he _really_ loves Spiderman) and he knows he might lose it if Daddy catches him out of bed this late, creeping around their home, but he just wants his Momma. She's always makes it home just as he finishes his dinner, runs through the door with a smile on her face, paints his cheeks with warm, soft kisses just for him. She's always home for bath time, in time for the bubbles and battleships and tightly wrapped towels. She's always home to tuck him into his big bed and stroke his hair, whisper bedtime stories into his ear until he falls asleep with her smell wrapped warm around him. But tonight –

She didn't come home tonight.

And he wants Momma.

X

On tiptoes he sneaks down the hallway, keeps his lips pressed tight, tries to keep quiet. If Daddy hears him, he'll be in trouble. But if he's really quiet, then maybe he can sneak downstairs and curl up in Momma's bed while he waits for her.

A smile lines his face at the thought, lifting his cheeks. Mm. The bed is so big, so soft. Smells like her, too. Smells like Mom. It's a plan. But –

Oh. No.

He forgot about the bars at the top of the stairs.

Inside his chest his heart feels heavy, feet giving way as he drops to the ground with a soft thud. His little body slumping against the bars, nose just poking through the small gaps as he looks down. He can't get downstairs. Daddy told him the bars were so he doesn't fall but he doesn't. He doesn't fall. He's good at the stairs.

He's also a good climber. Momma's little monkey. So, maybe he can climb over it?

He grins, pulls himself up. Yes. Climb over it. Good idea.

Both hands stretch high, grasp at the top of the gate. He bends his knees a little lower, ready to push off, jump high, when –

"James. No."

Uh oh.

It's Daddy.

X

His little feet hit the floor again and he tries to back up, to run back to bed and hide under the covers and pretend he's been asleep the whole time, but Daddy has already seen him. The sound of his feet as he climbs the staircase are loud and heavy. Strong. He can't outrun Daddy. Can't outsmart him either. Daddy is so smart.

James pauses at the doorway to his room, watches his father leap all too easily over the bars, covers the hallway in four large steps. He pushes a pout onto his face and hangs his head, squishes his eyes closed when Daddy kneels down in front of him, wraps one hand around his arm.

"You know you're not supposed to climb things," he growls.

Daddy's mad. James nods once, keeps his eyes closed.

There's a loud sigh, the fingers on his arm relaxing just a little until they fall away. A warm palm smooths back his hair then, gentle. Worried. "Why, buddy?"

He keeps the pout on his lips and drags his lashes open just a little, hands twisting together. "Momma," he whines.

Another sigh. "Oh, buddy. I miss her too. But she'll be home soon."

And then the tears start.

He can't help the fat droplets that stream over his cheeks. Can't help the way his lower lips shakes, the way he chokes down air, not quite getting enough. He's brave but –

_Momma_.

Daddy wraps his arms tight around his waist, tugs him close. One hand grazes his cheeks gently, wipes the tears that he can't stop. "Daddy," he cries.

His Daddy tries to pull back a little but he doesn't let go, grips him tighter. He sighs. "Remember what we talked about, buddy?"

He shakes his head, sucks in another ragged breath. He's no good at catching his breath.

"Use your words, my man. Don't cry. Can't understand you when you cry."

James hiccups. Sniffles. But he doesn't cry.

"How about we get you back to bed? You want to read another story?"

He shakes his head. No. No bed.

"Don't cry. Words. Use your words."

"Dad_dy_."

Daddy sighs heavy, scoops him up into the cradle of his arms and heads for the stairs. "Come on, buddy."

X

A heavy breath drags from Kate's lungs, her body slumping against the side of the rising elevator car, a headache already drumming behind her forehead. Two fingers work into each temple but it provides no relief from the tension in her veins.

Sleep hadn't been hers last night. Or the night before. She's been running ragged for near a week now, joining the hunt for an escaped prisoner.

But he's behind bars again now. Her family is safe and now –

Now she can finally rest.

The doors part before her and she has to force her legs to move, one step, two. The worn sole of her flat boots scuff against the hallway floorboards as she shuffles forward, finds the apartment door with their number. She was glad when Castle suggested their new apartment should be at the end of a hallway – less noise from the elevator to disturb James.

They had to move. Castle hated it. She hated it, too.

But they didn't have enough room for all of them at the loft anymore. At least, they won't soon. Not once they start trying for another baby.

Her eyes drift shift, a serene smile slipping onto her face and lighting up those tired lines. She loves her boy but – oh. She'd love a little girl, too.

Kate opens her eyes and pulls her keys out of her deep pockets, slips it into the lock. The door swings open without a sound, their home just as quiet. But there's light flickering from the tv and her eyes follow it, a dancing path of colours that lead her to her husband's broad outline on the sofa.

She pushes the door closed with a gentle _snick_ and drops her bag, shrugs off the Burberry coat she _told_ Castle not to buy. She can tell he's awake but his blue eyes won't turn to meet hers, instead cast low in his lap. On tiptoes she approaches with each step slow until she sees it.

Him. Her son.

James is fast asleep on the couch, tucked underneath his baby blue blanket as he rests against his father's side. Castle cradles the boy's head carefully in one hand so it doesn't fall, his fingers stroking a soothing rhythm through his hair.

"He wanted to wait up for you."

Castle's voice is low as he speaks, laced with an accusation she knows she deserves.

"I'm sorry."

Castle doesn't respond just yet. Instead, he carefully eases himself off the couch, easing James down onto the cushion before heading to the kitchen. He leans against the counter, fingers tense around the edge, shoulders stiff. She shuffles in after him but doesn't stand too close. He's just the same as her sometimes; pushing when he's angry will only blow up in her face.

"The case is over now," she tells him softly.

His eyes fall closed and she watches him swallows hard. "The damage has been done."

"Castle - "

"He was crying for you, Beckett."

Oh. Oh, her poor boy.

"Is he - "

"Sick?" he finishes. "No. He just missed his mother."

Her heart tears apart at that. She keels over, the hand she places on the counter to steady herself barely keeping her up.

"I'm sorry." Her throat closes over. "Oh, God – I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to apologise to," he tells her.

Both their eyes flick to their son lying asleep on the couch.

She has a lot of making up to do.

"I know you're still finding your way with this promotion," he speaks softly, a little more understanding now. "But you have to learn to delegate, because you can't keep putting the Precinct before your family."

She nods. She knows. And she'd much rather be here with her family than breathing in the stale air of the Twelfth.

"How about I cash in some of my vacation days?" She hums in question. "Take a long weekend. We can all head out to the Hamptons."

His face relaxes for the first time tonight and he leans over, presses his lips to her cheek, his breath washing over her skin in waves as he lingers.

She's forgiven.

X

Kate crosses the room on quiet feet to kneel beside the couch, ready to tuck her son into bed. She wedges both forearms underneath his sleeping body, tugging him close against her chest before lifting his heavy weight off the cushion. The slight jostle as she stands stirs him awake, his little body wriggling as he fights off the blanket of sleep.

"Momma?"

She hums softly and cradles him close. "Shh. Go back to sleep, sweet boy."

Tired eyes blink fast as he tries to wake when he realises he's not dreaming. "Momma," he calls for her again.

Her heart breaks. She can't settle him in his room alone. Not tonight.

"You want to sleep in our bed tonight?"

"Oh, Momma," he sighs with a sleepy nod. "Peas."

His eyes are dragging heavy as she slips into her bedroom. Castle doesn't say a word, silently throwing back the covers so she can settle James in the centre of their bed. She changes quickly, barely taking the time to scrub her face free from makeup before she crawls into bed with her boys.

James shifts in his sleep, unconsciously twisting toward her. She drops a kiss to his sweaty forehead as it lolls against her side, his body hot with sleep. Even with his thumb in mouth, drool spills onto her sleeve. She doesn't care.

She's home.

X

**Thank you for reading. Your thoughts would be much appreciated.  
**

**- K **


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